


Darling, I Want To Destroy You

by ahopper84, themayqueen



Series: Darling Series [1]
Category: Hanson (Band)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angry Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Humiliation, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Minor Violence, Orgasm Denial, Scratching, Sexual Violence, Sibling Incest, Spanking, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-29
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-05-30 00:12:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6399811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahopper84/pseuds/ahopper84, https://archiveofourown.org/users/themayqueen/pseuds/themayqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zac has loved and hated Taylor for years. Taylor has always gotten what he wants and loves playing games with Zac. Finally, Taylor pushes Zac too far and gets something he never expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Four Letter Words

_Zac_

He's the favorite. Always has been, always will be. And why shouldn't he be? Perfect, god-like looks, enough charisma to charm anyone's grandmother into bed, and the perfect blend of innocence and sin. Everyone wants him. Even me. I can't even hide it; the fans all know it, whether they choose to admit it or not. They call me his biggest fangirl, share pics of me gazing longingly at him, make up stories where we live happily, hornily, ever after.

What they don't know, is that as much as I love him (and believe me, I do), I hate him just as much. Why? Well, if you grew up in your older sibling's shadow, while at the same time hiding a forbidden attraction to them, which they just so happen to know about, and get a sick pleasure out of flaunting... you'd be a little ticked off, too.

Yes, he knows I'm in love with him. Does he feel the same? I honestly wish I knew. Sometimes he acts like he does. Other times, he acts like he's going along with it, humoring me, purely to make the fans rabid with desire. It works, sure. But it also makes me feel totally used. Not that he seems to care how I feel.

Taylor Hanson is just as vain as he seems. Fans joke about it, "oh he's such a diva," but they don't know how right they are. He knows how sexy he is, how irresistible, and everything he does is calculated to get the biggest reaction. Every smirk, every pose, every pair of painted-on jeans, all meant for one purpose. To keep all eyes on him.

It was always like that, even back when we were still kids. He knew how painfully beautiful he was, and he made sure to flaunt it at every turn. He knew how to work the camera, how to tilt his head back and close his eyes, and look for all the world like someone begging to be fucked.

And there I was, just a pudgy, crazy kid. But things changed when I hit puberty; all of a sudden, I was hot. Not in the same way as Taylor, but in a more basic, primal way. I learned from him, how to look, how to move, how to act. And it worked; slowly but surely, I noticed more and more girls trying to get my attention, trying to look slutty enough for me to take them backstage. I was starting to know what it felt like to be desired.

Not that it mattered. The only person I ever wanted, the only person whose opinion mattered, was Tay. The way he acted towards me was constantly shifting, changing faster than a mood ring. One day he would act jealous, then ignore me completely the next, and then try to flirt with me the day after that. That took some getting used to. At first, he played it off like a joke, totally harmless. But there was always an edge to it, a glimmer in his eyes that made me wonder.

The first time he kissed me, we were drunk. Yes, I drank underage, ooh. Big deal, we all did. We're no innocents; our fans know that. It scared the hell out of me, but I gave in and let it happen. We made out for a while, and then he left. Didn't say a word. Just left. I didn't cry, or pout, or jack off; I just sat there, silently raging for a few minutes, then went back to my video game. He'd been teasing me so much, there was no way I could guess why he'd done it.

After that, things went back to normal for a while; he didn't bring it up, so neither did I. I thought about it, but I couldn't bring myself to ask him why he'd done it. For all I knew, he might not have even remembered. So I just let it go, chalking it up to my brother being the inhumanly cruel tease that he is.

And then it happened again, a couple months later. This time was different; for one, we were both sober. But there was more to it than that. It felt different; the look in his eyes was even harder to read, but somehow easier, because the emotions, confused as they were, were right there on the surface. It was obvious he felt something. Again, we made out; and again, he left. But I remember him turning to me, like he was about to say something, and stopping. I remember his eyes narrowing, his mouth tightening; it felt like he was accusing me of something. And then he was gone again.

That happened a lot over the following few years. I noticed a pattern; he would get all flirty, his comments and glances becoming more and more lusty, before he finally came to me to make out. That was it though, never any more than that. Then he'd ignore me for a week or two, eventually going back to some semblance of normalcy, before starting all over.

The love I felt for him was being layered with a resentment, that was quickly turning to hatred. It was like ice, on top of snow, on top of ice; the more layers added on, the harder and colder the deeper layers became. Every time he would come to me, I'd feel the love resurface, the joy of being held in his arms, even as briefly as it was. But when he left, as he always did, that love would freeze over, as would every memory of every time before.

And that's where I'm at today. There is no happy ending. No steamy Zaylor sex scene. Just Taylor, being an impossible tease, for reasons he has yet to disclose to me. What's my guess? If I had to really analyze it, I'd say there's probably some attraction, some excitement over the taboo, some jealousy, and a whole lot of horniness. He's a total nympho. The fans know that already; stories abound of his escapades, and most of them are at least partly true.

So when I say Zaylor fan fiction sickens me, I'm telling the truth, but not for reasons people assume. It's not that I find incest, or even homosexuality, disgusting. It's because they're all so close to the truth, so close to what I wish the truth was, and yet so far off it's not even remotely funny. It's like, "yeah, we know you're in love with him. here's a story about how perfect your life could be. too bad it's just fiction!" Not exactly a fun read.

Good to jack off to, though. But usually more painful than anything else, like dangling a carrot on a string, forever out of reach. And it's all his fault. If he didn't flaunt himself, or flirt so openly, or be so god damned perfect...

Some days, I just wish I knew where I stood with him. It wouldn't be so bad, knowing it was all a show, just to make the fans crazy. Or knowing he really did care about me, the way I care about him. I really could give a crap less either way, at this point. I just wish I knew which it was.

Then again, there's also days where I'm terrified of finding out the truth. If he came to me one day and told me it meant nothing, that it was just a publicity stunt, I think I would stop breathing, permanently. Or I'd kill him. Or both. Either way, the band would be down a member or two.

I take a small amount of comfort knowing that nowadays, I'm considered just as sexy as him. I take another, slightly larger amount of comfort, knowing that drives him crazy. He really is a diva, and he hates not being the "cute one" anymore. Even Ike grew up hot, although he doesn't get as much love as either one of us. I've always wondered why, but usually I'm too busy being obsessed with Tay.

Zaylor. Just the word makes me nauseous. A constant reminder of what I almost have, but not quite. I'll never really have him. No one will; not even Natalie. Because to make a relationship work, you have to be willing to give some of yourself up. And Taylor is too selfish, too proud, to ever come down to that level. He's gotten too accustomed to being worshiped.

"One of these days," I always say to myself, "I'll teach him a lesson. Take him down off that high horse of his. Make him beg." My fantasies usually end up that way, with him begging me, for mercy, for release, for a love he doesn't deserve. Will I give in? Will I give him what he wants, as usual? Or will I be cruel, treat him the same way he's treated me all these years?

Doesn't matter. I'll never know. Because as unfair as it is, Taylor Hanson doesn't submit to anyone or anything. That's part of why I love him; and all of why I hate him.


	2. The Game

_Taylor_

People say my little brother's clueless like it's a bad thing. It's my favorite thing about him.

Zac has absolutely no idea how obvious he is. When he stares at me, everyone notices, including me. It would be impossible to miss the way he gazes longingly and follows after me like a lost little puppy dog, with those big, sad eyes. Everyone sees it, but I know he tries to convince himself that I don't. That I'm just as clueless as he is.

It's not like I can blame him, I guess. It wasn't even weird to begin with; after all, what little kid doesn't idolize his big brother? And it's not Zac's fault that he ended up with me for a big brother. Isaac found his own niche, somehow, but Zac has always wanted to be me. Somewhere along the way, it got twisted, and he started wanting to be _with_ me, too.

And he thinks I don't know. He thinks I can't see the lust in his eyes when he glances at me from behind the drums, watching the way I work the crowd into almost as much of a frenzy as I do him. 

The thing is, I'm an asshole. I've accepted that about myself long ago. I can live with it, but I know it's driving Zac insane. I guess that's how I like it. I love the confusion and hurt on his face when I tease him. If he's obvious, then I'm even worse. There's something about flirting with him-–so forbidden, so wrong-–that makes it the biggest thrill I've ever felt. Watching him try to figure out what's going on in my head is the best part. 

Every now and then, I'll indulge him. I didn't mean to take it that far the first time. We were drunk and I had been teasing him, pushing him to make his own move for days. I wanted to know I was right about the way he looked at me. I wanted to know that he wanted me; somehow, that was a bigger ego boost than any of the groupies in the world.

In the end, I pushed myself too far.

I didn't plan to kiss him, but I did. And I couldn't stop. He wasn't the first guy I ever kissed, so that wasn't what stopped me in my tracks. I'm not sure what it was. Maybe it was him. Maybe I just wanted to see how far I could push him, how far he would let me go. It scared me to realize that he wasn't going to let me stop. He wanted to take it all the way.

Apparently, even assholes like me have their limits. But that doesn't stop me from teasing him every chance I get. The fear mixed with lust in his eyes is one of the sexiest things I've ever seen. Yeah, I've come to terms with the fact that I think he's sexy; objectively, who wouldn't? He may not have been the teen dream like me, but he grew into his looks in a way I never would have imagined. I'm still a little feminine, but he's all man. I like that about him. It makes me want to see more of him, to catalogue all our differences, but I think he would be too shy to let me see him naked even if he didn't want me.

The kisses keep happening. It's like this inevitable build up, this pent up tension from all my teasing, and it just has to happen. I keep waiting for him to make another move, but he won't. Maybe he's scared. I'm not exactly fearless, myself, but I'm getting off on the adrenaline rush too much to worry about the consequences. Someday he'll come to terms with what he feels, and maybe then he won't let me just walk away.

I can't even imagine what it would be like, and I've tried. If I'm going to push him to his breaking point, I'd like to know what to expect. Sometimes, I think he's terrified of sex. He's never been like me, taking sex from whoever he can get, whenever he can get it. It's just how I am; there are very few things in the world that give me the same thrill as figuring out how to seduce someone new. It always leaves me longing for more, though. I guess I just like the chase; maybe that's why I'm always chasing after Zac, but pulling back just before the finish line.

If we ever let it go all the way, I can imagine two scenarios. In the first one, he's too shocked to believe it's really happening. I'll take the lead and shove him into a world he's only imagined. I don't think he even really knows what it is he wants from me; he's never been with another man, couldn't know how it feels like I do. I could show him. He would let me do anything I wanted, I know he would.

The other scenario is the exact opposite. I've teased him too long and he's had enough. Zac's got a volatile temper; he doesn't let anyone but me get away with the kind of bullshit I pull. When he's finally had enough of me dangling his biggest desire in front him, he'll snap. He'll take everything he wants, and he'll feel everything he wants, but he won't stop to enjoy any of it. It won't be about the pleasure or the love anymore; it'll be about making me pay.

I've been waiting a long time for anyone to make me pay for anything I've done, and there's a certain poetic justice in the thought of Zac exacting his revenge on me like that. 

At first, it was just an idle thought, imagining what he might do. These days, it's more like a fantasy. I drift off in my own mind, drowning out boring conversations with thoughts of Zac shoving me against a wall and not letting me kiss and run away anymore. I don't know what to make of those thoughts. I knew I was depraved, but this is a new level for me. I've let this game go on too long.

Sometimes, I'm not even sure what the game is anymore or who has the upper hand. There's only one thing I know for sure anymore. It's Zac's move.


	3. Through A Glass, Darkly

_Zac_

He's doing it again. The looks, the touches, the comments; and tonight, he's pulled out all the stops. He's wearing his tightest pair of jeans, the ones that leave _nothing_ to the imagination, and a tee shirt I swear is two sizes too small. He's practically humping his piano, even more than usual; the crowd loves it, of course. Unfortunately for them it's me he's doing it for.

He keeps looking back at me; I'm trying not to stare, but tonight it's just too hard, pun intended. I just hope people mistake my look for one of concentration, instead of intense desire. He's going to make his move tonight; I'm sure of it. Half of me is looking forward to it, as I always do, but the other half is physically sick with anger. I can't take it anymore, the constant teasing, always getting just a taste, but never enough to truly satisfy.

Maybe tonight I'll tell him no. I almost laugh out loud at the thought; I laugh even harder when I picture his face, a shocked pout at not getting his way. But I know that won't happen; as sick as it makes me, I need it to happen. I need these little trysts, unsatisfying and torturous as they are. Taylor is my drug, and I am his junkie, always begging for another fix. And I hate myself for it.

The night wears on, and my patience wears thin as Tay steps up his game. When he steps away from the piano, he leans over into the crowd; they think he's doing them a favor, but they're on the wrong side. I know he's just showing off how good his ass looks in those jeans. My thoughts grow dark, as they usually do right before a breakdown. I imagine pulling that pretty hair of his until his eyes water, leaving marks all over that perfect neck, maybe seeing how much of it I can fit in one hand.

We head back-stage after the first set, and he brushes past me in the narrow hallway, his hand "accidentally" brushing against my thigh. Something sparks, and I grab his wrist, pulling him back. I'm not sure why I did it, and I've managed to surprise both of us; Tay stares at me, a mix of confusion, shock, and something like amusement. I feel my grip tighten for a moment, and he almost winces. My stomach is in knots as we stare each other down.

I release him, backing away slowly before turning and all but running to the bathroom. I lock the door and lean against the sink, willing the waves of nausea to pass. I look up at my reflection; there's a darkness in my eyes I don't recognize, and it almost scares me. I take a few deep breaths, until my hands stop shaking. Tonight. I don't know what's going to happen, but it's going down tonight.

****

_Taylor_

There's something different about Zac tonight, something about the way he's looking at me. I said it was his move, but I can't help pushing him closer to whatever his breaking point is. When we go backstage before the acoustic set, I see the change in him. He's getting aggressive. His grip on my wrist reminds me how much stronger than me he is, and it makes a chill run through my body. The look in his eyes is impossible to read, though. I'm on the edge, waiting for him to tell me to stop or to take the next step. He doesn't, but I can feel how close he is. He'll break soon.

I can feel his eyes burning into me for the rest of the concert, even when I can't find a reason to glance over my shoulder at him. The tension is so high I wonder if everyone in the room can feel it. They can certainly see the way my pants are growing tighter. I'm sure Zac has noticed that, too. I wonder if he really knows why. Does he know how much I'm getting off on this? 

I must be just as sick as him. I keep telling myself it's only the chase, this game of cat and mouse; it's not really him turning me on. Most of the time, I believe myself. Tonight, I'm trying to blame the music. We're really on fire tonight, I tell myself, trying to ignore the fact that we're on fire because of the dangerous sexual tension Zac and I have going on.

Just one more move. That's all I need to make, and I know it'll send him toppling over the edge.

The acoustic set ends and we rush off the stage again. I grab Zac by the wrist and pull him into a tiny stairwell. It leads to the venue's basement or their storage area or something – I'm not sure, but I know we won't be spotted here, even though we're only feet away from the crowd. 

“Tay...” His voice is low and hoarse. That one word, just my name, has so much meaning when he says it; it's a confession and a question, a heated warning and a desperate plea.

His eyes are dark and full of some emotion I can't place. I don't give him time to say anything else, though. My lips are on his before he can form the first syllable, drowning out any thought he might have that isn't about me. It's not a deep, lingering kiss, but it's powerful. It gets my point across.

While he's still trying to catch his breath, I lean in so close that my lips are almost touching his ear, the rest of my body pressed flush against his. I can feel his heartbeat against me and his short, gasping breaths tickle my neck. But most of all, I can feel his hardness straining against his jeans, begging me to touch it.

But I don't. I lean in even closer, my lips barely grazing his ear and whisper. “It's a shame you always hide behind the drums. You should be proud to show this off; they don't have to know who it is you want...who you _need_. But you and me know the truth, don't we?”

****

_Zac_

I swallow hard, my mouth painfully dry. My eyes are closed tightly; I don't think I could stand to look into those blue eyes right now, seeing everything and nothing, a deceptive mixture of convincing illusions and half-truths. I don't want to think about the things he's saying, the way he's touching me. The playful tone that he's using suggests he thinks of this as a game, which ignites a flare of anger, but his body tells another story.

If I didn't know better, I'd almost say he wants it too. The way his body is pressing into mine, the hitch in his breath, the furious pace of his beating heart; it's just enough to make me wonder. A voice in the back of my head tells me it's not real, no more than the act he puts on for his adoring public. But as the tip of his tongue grazes my ear, his fingers digging into my hips, it's hard not to be convinced.

That's how it always is with him, though. I can never tell if he really wants it, or if he just likes making me squirm. Sure, he's hard as marble, his erection firmly digging into my thigh, but he's always hard during concerts. As am I, but I find it hard to believe it's for the same reason. And unlike him, I don't prefer to parade my vulnerability to the world; but then, he doesn't see it as a weakness, but a trophy, something to be worshiped. Which it is, of course. 

I push away from him, gasping for breath as we take the stage for the last time. My vision is hazy as I struggle to focus. He's never affected me quite this much, and it's got me worried. So he does know; I had a feeling he did, but to hear him admit it takes things to a new level. Especially since it confirms that he has, in fact, been torturing me on purpose. The flare I felt before grows, as the real truth of the situation makes itself clear.

I don't know if I can do this. My hands are shaking so badly I can barely keep the beat. He's been doing it on purpose. Bringing me to the edge, then pulling back at the last instant. I start to go over memories in my head, things I'd shrugged off, but now see in a whole different light. Things I thought I'd imagined, products of a twisted obsession. My brother, the angel of every girls dream, getting off on getting his little brother hard. My god... I knew he was a selfish, arrogant prick, but this... this is a level of depravity I never would have imagined. 

On purpose. Everything he's done, everything he's said, all done with the sole purpose of torturing me to the brink of insanity. The phrase echoes in my mind, drowning out the sounds of everything around me. An intense heat is spreading through me, filling my ears and blurring my vision.

During the last song, he bends over, shaking that ass of his, running his hands up his legs, over his inner thighs... moves that would make a stripper blush. He turns to look at me, running his tongue over his perfect lips. I'm gripped suddenly by a vision of the things that tongue could do, so vivid that I physically shudder, a primal groan rumbling through my chest. His eyes widen in shock, and it takes me a moment to realize why.

I dropped my sticks.

I quickly recover them, but the damage is done. The frustration I was already experiencing, combined with the embarrassment of such an unprofessional mistake, fuels my previous anger to a nearly blind rage. The desire is to the point of pain, and yet I've never wanted so badly to _hurt_ him, in every sense of the word. I don't even recognize the thoughts and scenarios flashing past my eyes, and frankly, it's scaring me. I try to calm my breathing, to slow my blood, but it feels like I'm losing control of my body. 

We finish the song and take our bow; I make sure to put Ike between us, afraid of what I might do if I get my hands on Tay. He watches me from the corner of his eye, and I swear I see him smirk, which only further ignites the flames that threaten to consume me. As soon as we say our final goodbyes, I run off stage, desperate for the safety and solitude of my hotel room. I need to get away from him, before I do something we'll both regret.


	4. When The Levee Breaks

_Taylor_

I'm getting to Zac; there's no question about that. I'm pulling out all the stops, and even I'm surprised by how effective it is. Zac lives in his own little world during concerts; no one breaks his focus. I can't remember another time when he has actually dropped his drumsticks during a concert, and it feels damn good to know it's because of me. I stifled a laugh when I saw him put distance between us during the bow, as though having Isaac between us could diffuse this sexual tension. 

He rushed offstage so quickly I couldn't follow him, hiding himself away in the tour bus bathroom. Okay, he's actually taking a shower. But he's definitely hiding, too. He's going to draw that shower out as long as possible. He better not be jerking off in there; that would take all the fun out of this for me.

I lay back on the bus couch and plot my next move, since it's obvious Zac won't take the lead yet. I've got to provoke him again so that he'll finally snap. I've never had to chase someone like this before, never fought tooth and nail to get someone in my bed. Why won't he let me give him what he wants? He should jump at the chance to finally have me.

If we were staying on the bus, I'd have to sneak into my bunk for a little... alone time. The adrenaline rush must be getting to me – I've never been this fucking hard after kissing him, never been so close to taking maters in to my own hands. Right now, it's taking every ounce of strength I have not to – although it does help that Isaac is sitting only feet away, no doubt wondering why I'm grinning like a maniac.

By the time we reach the hotel, I'm ready to explode. Zac still hasn't left the shower, so I offer to retrieve him. I try the door, even though I know he's locked it, then I bang on it as hard as I can. “Zac! Come on out.”

His reply is only a grunt. I start to knock again, but just as I raise my hand, I hear the lock click and the door flies open. Suddenly we're face to face, his eyes boring into me with an intensity I've never seen before. It makes a shiver run up my spine. His skin is flushed from the heat of the shower, and I have to resist the urge to reach out and lick up the drop of water rolling down his neck.

“We're at the hotel,” I say, leaning in close and breathing in his scent. He flinches a little. “Are you coming?”

The way his eyes widen, then narrow into tiny slits, lets me know he definitely caught my double meaning. But he still doesn't say a word. I turn on my heel and walk away, making sure to swing my hips just enough that I know he's watching my every move. I grab my things from my bunk, sticking my ass out in the air as I do, and scurry off the bus toward the hotel.

Isaac is already waiting by the elevator when I arrive, and Zac gets there only seconds after I do. He doesn't say a single thing during the entire elevator ride. Isaac either doesn't notice the tension at all or he's decided to be extra chipper and talkative to drown it out. I don't think either of us actually hears a single word he says. Zac is too busy looking at anything but me, and I'm too busy slowly inching closer to him, daring him to glance my way.

He's first off the elevator, shoving his way past me. He rushes down the hall, all but slamming his door behind him. I grab it before it the lock has time to click into place, covering the distance between us quickly so that I'm standing directly behind him, breathing down his neck.

“What the fuck are you doing, Taylor?”

I push his hair out of the way and run my lips along his neck. “What I know you want.”

****

_Zac_

"What I want?" I hiss, slapping his hand away and turning to face him. He’s startled, but only for a moment. "You have no fucking idea what I want, Taylor. None." He smirks at me arrogantly, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from my eyes; the move is surprisingly gentle, but I see no tenderness in his eyes, only an infuriating confidence. He thinks he can get away with it, like he always has before, but he has no clue what he's doing to me. I wonder if he even cares; I doubt it. Taylor cares about number one, and that’s it. My hands shake at my sides as I struggle to control myself, but it's a losing battle. 

I take a step back, gasping for air, but Taylor keeps pace, his body staying within a breath of mine. I’ve never wanted to be further away from him, never wished so hard that he would just _go away_. His fingers burn a trail down my neck, and I shiver despite myself. I hate that he has so much control over me, hate that he _knows_ he does. His touch continues over my chest, past my stomach… and then nothing. I look at him through narrowed eyes; he's grinning like a Cheshire cat, not doing anything, just... waiting. Waiting for me to break. And break, I do. It's almost as if another side of me, long caged, has finally taken over. I back him up until he collides harshly with the wall, pinning him by his wrists with a strength I rarely display, and his smile falters ever so slightly. 

"Hmm, kinky," he purrs, his voice at once making my cock twitch and my stomach turn. "You gonna pull my hair too?" 

"Shut up," I snap, squeezing his wrists until I feel the muscles tense. For an instant, he almost looks afraid, but I don't let it fool me. I can't trust anything he does anymore. For years I trusted him, and all it caused me was pain. I let my eyes wander, noticing the way his hips lean forward towards mine, more proof of the only thing on his mind. With a shudder, I close the gap, pressing myself firmly against him. It’s the first time I’ve felt him like this, and I’m reminded that while he may be taller, his frame is so much smaller than mine. I smirk as I realize, for perhaps the first time, that I’m not as vulnerable as he makes me feel. I’ve got him trapped; I’ll decide when we’re done. He's not getting away this time.

****

_Taylor_

I blink a few times, just to make sure this is really my brother in front of me, pinning me to the wall. It definitely looks like him, and it's no secret that he has a temper. But this is different. There's a fire and a raw, primal energy in him that I've never seen before. My body is betraying me, begging for more, while my mind is screaming that I'm in danger.

But Zac's not like this, is he? He's not the kind of guy who gets off on violence like this. He's upset, but surely he'll come to his senses. I quit resisting and let myself relax into his grasp. “Okay, what now? You've got me. Do you know what comes next? _Or_... do you need to me to show you?”

He doesn't say a word. He lips curl into a terrifying sneer, full of malice like I've never seen from him before. There's a confidence to it, too, but I don't have time to analyze it all before his lips are on mine with such force that my head bangs against the wall. He digs his nails into my wrists as his tongue assaults my mouth, forcing my lips open. I have no choice but to comply, to let him lead me through this. He sucks my tongue into his mouth and runs his teeth along it, making me shudder both with fear and desire. He pulls back slightly, just enough to take my bottom lip between his teeth. He's dangerously close to drawing blood; even if he doesn't, I'll still feel that bite tomorrow.

He lets go of me then, pulling back and leaving me gasping for air. My vision is blurry, every inch of my body crying out with need. Zac's eyes flutter closed and he shakes. I start to wonder if he really planned for this at all; maybe we're in too deep. The problem is, I don't see a way back out.

I swallow hard and try to steady my breathing. “Okay, Zac. Let's not get crazy, here. We were just playing around, just having fun, weren't we? It's not... it doesn't have to mean anything...”

He abruptly loosens his grip on my right wrist, and for a second I let myself relax. I've gotten through to him; he's going to let me go and end this. Then it happens. I feel the slap before I even see it coming, his hand connecting with the side of my face hard enough to whip my head around. The sound of it echoes through the room, and I'm too shocked to break the silence.

I'm definitely in over my head now.


	5. Wut Will Nicht Sterben

_Zac_

For a moment, he's frozen, eyes wide, mouth hanging open, too shocked to turn his head. His usually porcelain complexion seems even paler compared to the dark red mark I've left. I’m surprised as well, but the power I feel is a strange high. It feels good to shut him up, to literally smack the smartass grin off his pretty lips. When he finally meets my eyes, he's like a completely different person. Gone is the arrogance, the vanity, the smug confidence. All I see is fear. And I like it. 

My lips are on his again, crushing them as I force them to part for me. He tries to turn his head, to escape, but my hand on his jaw holds him firmly in place. After a moment, he relents, letting me have my way, and I feel a sick pleasure in bending him to my will for once. I rock my hips against his, and a small part of me is surprised to feel his erection, hard as ever. With the realization that he's actually enjoying this, any last shred of hesitance disappears. 

I break the kiss, the hand on his jaw moving up to grab roughly at his hair. He sucks in a breath as I yank his head to the side, descending on his neck. I don't care if I leave him covered in marks; it would serve him right. I sink my incisors into the taut muscle, stopping just short of breaking skin. He cries out, but his hips jerk forwards, telling me how he really feels. I grind against him as I bite all over his neck, my head swimming as I listen to him whine and moan.

I take a step back, releasing his wrist, but not his hair. His eyes are wide and pleading, but I toss him in the direction of the bed, where he falls on his back, his arms barely supporting himself. I stroll over slowly, my eyes locked on his. He glances at the door for a split second, before closing his eyes and swallowing hard. He could try to leave, and maybe I would let him; I may want to hurt him, but I’m not sick enough to truly hold him against his will. But he just lays there, either out of fear or desire; judging by his hard-on, and the way he’s shaking, my guess would be a bit of both, but it doesn’t matter. It seems he's made his choice, to accept what’s coming to him. 

Maybe deep down, he knows he deserves this. Maybe he even wants it. Not that I really care what he wants, not now. It’s always been about him, in every aspect of our lives. I was always just the drummer, the goofy one, Taylor Hanson’s crazy little brother. He was the diva, the one people came to see, the one who always got his way. But tonight, it’s my turn to be selfish. I’ve earned this.

****

_Taylor_

I stare up at Zac, gasping for air and trying to pull myself up at least to a sitting position. The way he's staring down at me makes me feel so vulnerable. I don't do vulnerable. All these games I've played in my life, not just with him, have always been designed so that I win. I've never needed or wanted to submit to anyone.

Zac hasn't said a word and it's killing me not to know what he's thinking and planning, if he even has a plan for this. I look up at him, questioning, my lips pursed but not pouting. I'm not about to beg, but I'm past teasing him further. But he can't just leave me hanging like this forever.

He points at my shirt. “Off.”

I don't need it made any clearer than that. My hands are trembling, but they still manage to find their way to the shirt's buttons. Zac's eyes are on me the entire time, watching my every move as I fumble to peel the shirt away. 

He steps in closer and draws his hand up to my face. I can't help flinching, fearing another slap, but this time he's gentle. His eyes are still taking in every exposed inch of me, like he hasn't seen this much of my body before. His hand snakes around to the back of my head, grabbing a fistful of my hair and dragging me forward until I fall to my knees.

With his hand still firmly gripping my hair, he tugs at his pants, popping the button free and yanking the zipper down. He pushes his pants and underwear down all in one motion with his free hand. I know what's coming next, but he still tugs on my hair and nudges his cock toward my mouth. My faltering confidence comes back to me. I lean in and run my tongue just along the tip of his cock, just enough to feel him shudder. I lick slowly from the base to the head, pausing to make a few more circles around the head, before drawing him into my mouth. He's holding steady, not giving in to the urge to thrust his hips, but I know he's dying to match my moves. 

I pull back slightly and gaze up, just to gauge his reaction. I expect to see his eyes shut, his face flushed with lust, but instead he's staring back at me, his lips a tight line. He grips my hair tighter in his hand and pulls me forward, forcing the rest of his length down my throat. I cough and sputter, but Zac doesn't give me time to recover. In fact, he doesn't give me time to do anything. His hand is still planted in my hair, shoving me forward at his own furious pace.

If I didn't know better, I would think this wasn't even about me, that it was only about him getting off. And I _could_ get him off without being forced to swallow every inch like this, but there's something different... something almost exciting about having this taken out of my control. The idea of submitting, so unlike me, makes my body shake, my knees threatening to stop holding me up. I have to do something to ease the tension. My hand creeps up my thigh, finding my erection easily and squeezing it. If I could just unzip my pants, just pull myself free...

****

_Zac_

Still thinking of himself, the bastard. I pull him off of me, yanking his hair to pull him to his feet. He stumbles, but his lack of balance is none of my concern. I release his hair roughly, pushing him back onto the bed, before peeling off my shirt. He stares up at me, his eyes wide; the fear is still there, but now clearly mingled with lust. 

I crawl over him, pushing his head out of the way to return to his neck. The skin is already covered in splotches of purple, and I can't help feeling proud of my handiwork. I trace the various marks with my tongue, relishing every pained hiss. I reach down and quickly undo his jeans, tugging at the hips; for once he does something right, pushing them off, his hands returning to his sides.

I let my eyes travel down his body, finally resting on the spot that's ever on display, and yet hidden away from the unworthy masses. I'd never been one of the blessed few, or not so few if the rumors were to be believed, but right now nothing is keeping me from taking my fill. Taylor's body trembles, every muscle tightened to the extreme; he flinches as I brush my hand over his legs, my nails scratching lightly at his thighs. I know what he wants. But for once in his life, he's not going to get it.

"Turn over." My voice is almost a growl, and I hardly recognize it. Tay stares up at me, head cocked slightly, and I hear myself snarl. I shove his side roughly, and he nearly jumps, finally rolling onto his stomach. I look over his backside, my eyes lingering on the perfect ass he's so fond of showing off. The muscles in his back quiver, drawing my attention there. I ghost my hand up his spine, up to his neck, before raking my nails all the way down to his waist; he moans loudly, arching his back, his hips grinding into the mattress.

"Don't you _fucking_ move," I shout, my hand descending swiftly on his ass. He gasps and flinches, earning him another, harder smack; this time, he has the common sense to stay still, although I hear him whimper. His cheek is already turning red, but I can't resist giving him another few slaps. Something about punishing him, in such a demeaning way, pleases me more than I ever would have expected. I notice him gripping the sheets, his knuckles white; I brush my fingertips against the tender skin, watching with amusement as he tries so hard to be still. 

"Get over here." I pull Taylor up by his arm, turning him towards me. A push on his shoulders is all the instruction he needs, before he's taking me in his mouth again. I'm not quite as forceful as I was before, but my hand on the back of his neck sets the pace. As much as I hate to admit it, he's not bad. I refuse to consider just _why_ he's not, my attention focused instead on the almost overwhelming sensations. I push him off of me before things go too far; he's not through paying for all his sins. I shove him onto his hands and knees; he turns back to look at me, a wild, panicked look in his eyes.

“Zac… wait…”


	6. Perfection Will Not Come

_Taylor_

“Zac... wait. You're not... this is gonna hurt...”

I'm scrambling for any shred of hope I have left. I know I'm not walking out of here unscathed or with my dignity, but there has to be some way... But no. The look in Zac's eyes tells me this is how it's going to be. I'm going to pay and it's going to hurt. I'm scared of the pain, but I know I've done more than enough to deserve it. It's that knowledge, combined with this new feeling of submission, that has me trembling with anticipation. 

His hand flies toward my face before I have time to react or even realize what's coming. His palm connects with my skin with an awful sound, another smack to make both of my cheeks match. I shudder to think what I'll look like tomorrow, with the tracks of Zac's rage covering my body. Although I hate to admit it, I don't mind bearing his marks.

“I didn't ask for your opinion,” he says, shoving my face down onto the mattress to truly shut me up. “Don't talk to _me_ about pain. Don't you fucking dare.”

With one hand firmly on my back, practically daring me to move or resist whatever is coming next, he drags his other hand across my ass. He finds his destination soon, pressing a finger into me without warning or preparation. I hiss and my back arches of its own accord; the movement is met with a firm shove from Zac. My fingernails claw at the sheets, trying to find a little purchase to brace myself. He continues to thrust his finger in and out of me, hardly giving me time to breathe before each thrust back in. 

“You have no clue, Taylor. All these years... teasing me, making me think you knew. And it was just a game to you?” His voice is a low rumble, and he punctuates his statements with harder thrusts, drawing his finger out only to elicit a gasp from me when he forces it back in. There's no point replying to him. I can't dispute what he's saying; it's all true. It _was_ a game to me, and I don't think I knew the rules at all. I didn't think, couldn't envision how my actions might actually have this sort of impact. I wanted to push Zac to the edge; I didn't realize what that would do to me.

Zac pulls back for a second and the sudden emptiness feels so wrong, but he soon remedies that, adding a second finger and resuming the same pace. A long moan, almost closer to a whine, comes out of my mouth of its own will. I hardly even recognize the sound as my own voice. He twists his fingers harshly, forcing another low moan from me.

“Think about that, Taylor. Years of torture, never knowing what you were trying to do to me... never knowing what any of it meant to you. But that's over now. Now we both know the truth, _don't we_?”

He's throwing my own words back at me, making it absolutely clear that the tables have turned. I don't reply. I _can't_ reply. I'm really seeing the full picture now, and there's nothing I can do, nothing I want to do to stop this. This is my punishment, and I've got to take each lash, knowing that I've earned them. Suddenly, he pulls back, withdrawing his fingers completely. I hold my breath and wait for him to begin again, but he doesn't.

“Do you get it now, Taylor?” He asks, running his hands along my ass, fingernails grazing my flesh. “Do you understand that you have to pay?” 

I nod, not trusting myself to even speak one syllable. 

He leans over me and whispers in my ear. “Good. Because you’re not done yet.”

I'm past the point of even denying how much I want this, how much I need him to see this all the way through. Even if he wants to make me pay, whatever that means, I'm willing to do it if it gets me closer to him. My hips thrust back toward him until I can feel his cock against my ass. So close, but it's not enough. “Please, Zac...”

“Please?” He takes his dick in his hand and slides it between my cheeks. “God, you think you can just say please and get whatever you want. The whole world just lives to give Taylor Hanson what he desires. Well, not this time. This is on my terms, do you get that? This is not about what _you_ want.”

Oh, god. He's so close, touching me but not penetrating at all, just teasing me. I gulp, and press my lips together tightly, willing myself not to speak again. I have no other words now but pleas, no other thoughts but how much I need this. 

He grasps my hips firmly, and I know what he's bracing for. He presses his dick against my entrance, still tight despite his attempt at preparing me. “This is about what _I_ want.”

On the last word, he thrust into me, filling me completely in one rough stroke. It knocks the breath out of me. My knuckles grip the sheets so hard that they're aching and turning white. He pauses after the first thrust, his grip on my hips only growing tighter.

“Fuck...” he gasps out, barely above a whisper. 

It's his first time, I realize, and for all the experience I have, it might as well be mine, too. Sure, I've been in this position before, but not like this, not with someone who terrified me as much as he turned me on. I couldn't have anticipated the way it would feel to have Zac inside of me, to know it was _my brother_ making me feel like no one else ever had. Sex was never emotional for me; at least, I had never concerned myself with the other person's emotions. Now I don't have a choice, and I feel all of his emotions descending on me at once, and my own bubbling up from some place deep within as well.

Soon enough he gains his bearings and begins to thrust. He wastes no time building up his tempo. Each thrust is as hard as the last, his pace steady even though I can hear his breathing growing more and more erratic. I don't fight the urge to moan, and for once, every little sound from my mouth is real, not a show put on for my own amusement. Zac doesn't remain quiet for long, either. He's tapped into something in himself, some inner confidence that lets his words flow more freely than ever before. 

"I always thought I didn't deserve this. That somehow, I wasn't worthy of your attention. _You_ made me feel like that. But I thought you at least cared, as a brother. Your own fucking brother. I was fifteen, Taylor. Fifteen. Did you think, for one second, about what that would do to me? Of course you didn't. All you cared about, was getting your fucking kicks, and making sure _you_ were in the spotlight. Taylor fucking Hanson, teenage fucking dream.”

His words are cutting me to the core, but somehow that doesn't lessen how fucking amazing it all feels. In a sick way, I think it even turns me on more to hear all the awful things he has to say about me. I've been rock hard all night, and my cock is currently shoved into the mattress rather painfully, so I loosen one hand from the sheets and reach down to relieve my own tension a little. I only manage to wrap my hand around my dick before Zac's hand is there, digging into my wrist and yanking my hand away.

“Didn't you hear me say this wasn't about you?” He shouts, reaching for my other arm. He grasps them both tightly, twisting them behind my back and pulling me upright. I'm absolutely at his mercy; a long whine escapes my mouth and it sounds pitiful. This is too much. I can't stop him, but the pain and the pleasure is all too much for my body and mind to handle. “Zac, please... fuck. Please just let me get off...”

****

_Zac_

"Shut. Up." I pull him up against my chest, pinning his arms between our bodies; one arm wraps across his chest, the other hand on his throat, just enough to hint at my strength. He closes his eyes and whimpers, but says nothing. I continue to thrust roughly into him, whispering harsh words in his ear.

"That's all you care about, isn't it? That's all you've ever cared about. If half the fans knew what a little slut you were, they'd never give you the time of day. Look at you, I've got you by the throat, I could..." I took a deep breath, stopping myself from finishing the thought. 

"And you're still only thinking of your next orgasm. In fact... You're actually getting off on being treated like shit, aren't you?" I give his neck a squeeze, watching carefully as his face contorts in... yes, pleasure. Without warning, I sink my teeth into his neck once more, no longer caring if I break his precious skin. 

I shove him down, barely giving him time to breathe before dragging my nails down his back; he moans out loud in response, his voice almost breaking. He tries to push his hips back against mine, but my hand descends swiftly on his ass again, and he gives up trying to set the pace. I grab his hair again, yanking back roughly to punctuate my words. 

"You really are a little whore. Is this what you want? You want to be abused? You want to be _hurt_?" A part of me realizes I’m still giving him what he wants, but it’s merely coincidental. This is about me, about my needs. It’s my turn, my time. I fall silent as I take out my frustrations on him, and to his credit, he does nothing but lays there and takes it.

All the years of pain, all the nights I laid awake aching, physically and emotionally, all led up to this one night, this one outburst; this one chance to finally be the strong one. Tay looks so frail beneath me, his moans only slightly muffled by the sheets. With every thrust, every brutal contact between my flesh and his, I feel a piece of my hurt burn away, but there's so much. I don’t know if I could ever heal all the scars… but it’s a start. The great Taylor Hanson, reduced to a whining, submissive wreck, begging like the whore he is. But it’s not enough. It’s not enough for him to beg for more; I want him to beg for _me_. I want to be the only one who can satisfy him, the only one who can make him feel alive.

And then, I won’t.

I don't know how much longer I can keep this up, though. The rage that fueled this storm is burning itself out, and my body is growing weak. I can feel my impending climax, but it's not enough; he's not through paying. I lash out, my nails carving once more into his back, angry red scores covering the surface.

"You made me think I was crazy. You made me think I was sick. You made me feel like a freak. You. Hurt. Me."

****

_Taylor_

I want to ignore his awful, hate filled words and focus only on the intense pleasure coursing through my body, but it's impossible. The words and the act are one and the same now, just as inseparable as the pain and pleasure he's causing me with every thrust and every pointed comment. 

He's not wrong about any of it, and that's the worst part of all.

All these things he's saying... I don't want to think about any of it. I've never had to answer for my actions before, especially not like this. I made excuses for why I found so much sick pleasure in teasing Zac. I told myself it was meaningless – just a phase he would grow out of. Somehow I imagined we would look back on it all and laugh about my harmless games; I never realized how twisted and tangled his emotions were. But my own feelings, if I ever had any, have been buried so deep even I didn't think about them. With every thrust and every new burst of pain, Zac is dredging up emotions I've never let myself actually feel. I should have protected him, should have convinced him how wrong it was to want me, but I didn't. I pushed him deeper in. 

_Why?_ I only have one answer for that. Because I wanted him to want me. It was just my sick vanity at first, the incredible ego boost of realizing that I, Taylor Hanson, was irresistible to everyone, even my own little brother. He was the one person I couldn't get to, the one person all my charms couldn't break, and it turned me on. The one person who could get under my skin and make me see my sins was my little brother. God... I'm even more twisted than he is.

I can feel his thrusts becoming erratic and his pace increasing. He's getting close, and I'm still dangling at the edge of the cliff, not allowed to follow him over it. My body is crying out for any kind of release, though I know Zac won't listen to any plea. Even my moans, which have long since turned to whimpers and cries, have no effect on him. 

His hands come to rest on my hips, pulling my body back against him as much as he is thrusting into me. Each breath comes out as a gasp and I barely have the energy to form any words at all. Almost all conscious thought has left me, so I whisper the only words I can call to mind. “Zac... I'm sorry...”

I take myself by surprise with those words. I'm not accustomed to apologizing for things; I never stop to let myself feel sorry for anything, but the gravity of everything I've done to him has hit me. I brace myself for Zac's inevitable reaction, and I can only hope it isn't more harsh words. Instead, he grunts and pulls my body closer again. I can feel him shaking, almost losing his grip on me, as he gives a few last, long thrusts. He lingers on the last thrust, his fingernails digging into my thigh as he fills me. 

All too soon, he pulls out and pushes me away. I collapse onto the bed, my body aching for release while my mind is still reeling. Zac collapses beside me, his body covered in a thick sweat and his chest heaving. His head is turned away from me, so I have no clue what he's thinking and feeling, and I'm suddenly overcome with the urge to find out. I've never been so curious to see inside someone's mind and heart that I almost don't know where to begin. I reach out tentatively and place a shaking hand on his back. He lashes out with all his strength and shoves me away. I grasp at the sheets once again, this time to keep from toppling into the floor.

“Don't fucking touch me.”

I can only stare at him, wide eyed and slack jawed. He's shaky at first, but his strength is visibly returning. He climbs off the bed hurriedly and begins to search the floor for his discarded clothes. Still I can only stare, in fear and a little bit of awe as I watch him slowly pulling himself back together.

“You know, I always thought you were the strong one,” he says with a wry laugh. I can see him gaining momentum with each word. “I looked up to you. You were everything I wasn't... everything I wished I was. But now...”

For a moment, I wait, unsure whether or not he's finished. He pauses, his pants still unbuttoned, to look for his shirt, and I seize the opportunity. I can feel the words bubbling up inside of me, thoughts and emotions I hadn't even realized I had ready to come tumbling out. “I never tried to be a role model, okay? You knew what I was, and you wanted me anyway. Maybe I made it worse, but it was only because I... I just...”

He crosses to the bed with long, quick strides and grasps my face in his hand, forcing me to look him in the eyes. He pulls me close and hisses, “Because what? Tell me, Taylor. Tell me why you did it. Tell me, or so help me, I will walk out that door, and you will never see my face again.”

The look in his eyes tells it isn't an empty threat, and I know exactly what he wants from me. The force of it hits me like he's slapped me again, and my mouth forms the words before I can truly process what I'm saying, even though I know it's true. “Because... I wanted you. Because I love you.”

Zac holds me still and stares at me, his eyes flashing through emotions so quickly I barely catch them all – anger, sadness, even a tiny glimmer of happiness. He moves in closer, just barely, and my lips part in anticipation. But he stops, pulling back completely and and letting me fall back to the bed. He grabs his coat and rushes toward the door.

I don't understand. I said it. I gave him what he wanted, didn't I? “Zac... I said I love you. And I meant it, I swear...”

“Not my problem,” he says, not even turning his head to look back at me. “I may love you. I may want you.”

He opens the door, but pauses with his hand on the doorknob, as though he's stuck in thought. I hold my breath, waiting for his next words, waiting for him to realize the mistake he's about to make. Finally, he takes a deep breath, gathering up the last of his strength.

“But I don't need you.”

He turns back ever so slightly, only the side of his face visible to me before he slams the door behind him. But it's still enough for me to see a tear threatening to run down his cheek. After all of that... one tear. 

I hear myself let out a sob and I almost don't recognize the sound. It's soon followed by my own tears, falling in a steady stream. My vision grows blurry as my eyes fill with tears that I don't bother to wipe away, and I can do nothing but stare at the door. My erection still demands attention, but it makes me sick to even think about getting myself off when the one person I've maybe ever loved just walked out.

Love... it's a word I'm not sure was even in my vocabulary until tonight. I wanted things and I took them, then discarded them when something else caught my eye. It brought me happiness, if only temporarily, and I never had to worry about needing something for longer than it took to get it. Love didn't need to be part of that, wasn't an emotion I ever felt any need to explore outside of the lyrics of a song. 

I wanted to toy with Zac, not to fall in love with him. The one person I should never have wanted, for so many reasons, was the only one to ever get through to me. But I guess it was too late. All of his pain and suffering at my hands, suffering I was blissfully unaware of, has been purged from him, leaving only me behind. He's thrown my own ignorance of everything, even my own actions and emotions, in my face and left me alone with my misery. I wanted to play, and this is my prize.


End file.
